


Bad Day, Good Night

by kimuracarter



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-07
Updated: 2011-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-30 17:57:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/334516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimuracarter/pseuds/kimuracarter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Leonard McCoy is a hot movie star, and Jim is stuck working at the gas station. McCoy and his entourage arrive for a photo shoot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Day, Good Night

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Star Trek. This is a work of fiction and not for profit.

Jim Kirk was annoyed. He had been warned the day before that Hollywood was coming to Shit Town, Iowa, but that hadn't made the experience any easier.

Some big Hollywood star named Leonard McCoy was doing a photo shoot at the garage he worked at. Everyone in the tiny town had worked themselves into a panic over it. Jim's boss had insisted that all employees show up for work, even though they were technically closed. He wanted all hands on deck, in case the crew needed anything.

So far, all Jim had done all day was watch. The man himself had been hurried out of SUV. He'd been so swarmed with his entourage that Kirk had hardly gotten a glimpse. Not that he'd been looking. Since then, he had watched the crew set up some shots in and around some expensive antique cars. He tried to tell himself that he wasn't jealous of the money, the attention, the women that tried to sneak on "set." But the way they all fawned over "Mr. McCoy" was starting to get under his skin.

The guy was a movie star, for fuck's sake. Not Gandhi.

And then they were actively encroaching on his space. As the shoot wound down, the crew were taking trips inside the station to use the bathroom. A group of them pulled up fancy folding chairs near him, pulling up a laptop to preview some of the images.

Jim rolled his eyes until his attention was stolen by one of the pictures.

"That's really good," someone murmured, making a note.

Jim was decidedly not staring at the picture of McCoy in the back seat of a car with dark eyes that clearly said, "Don't you want to come back here with me?" Jim stood up so abruptly his chair nearly tipped over. He walked around aimlessly, trying to burn off the sudden nervous energy running through him.

_He's a movie star_ , Jim reminded himself. _It's his_ job _to look good._ He looked around for his boss, intending to ask if he could go home. He wasn't needed anyway. Of course, the crew chose that moment to pack up shop. There were suddenly people and equipment everywhere.

Jim sighed. _Fuck it._ He unbuttoned his gray uniform shirt, slung it over his shoulder, and started to walk home. His boss probably had too many stars in his eyes to even notice. Cars and trucks passed him by, some Hollywood, some locals heading home after all the excitement. Jim was between cars at the moment, hardly needed one since he worked a fifteen minute walk from his house.

He heard a motorcycle behind him; it slowed to a stop. "Hey. Kid!"

Jim bristled. "I'm not a fucking kid," he shot back without even stopping.

"Good. Because I need to know if there's a decent bar in the next town over."

Jim stopped and turned. The rider with the Southern drawl was pulling off his helmet, and Jim's jaw nearly hit the ground. Well, if it wasn't every-whim-catered-to-McCoy. Jim quickly pulled himself together. "What's the matter? Your entourage run out of champagne?"

McCoy smirked. "Wasn't exactly lookin' for champagne, kid. Need to get away from all ... that. Just lookin' for a dark corner and a good bourbon. Know a place?"

Jim swallowed and firmly denied that his mouth was watering. "Yeah. Maybe."

McCoy leaned forward on the handlebars. "You gonna tell me? How 'bout I give you a ride?"

Jim looked at the bike and realized that he recognized it from the shop. It was one of his boss's forgotten projects, sitting in a corner. McCoy must have bought it from him.

"You got a name, kid?"

"Jim Kirk," he answered, walking towards the bike. "First round on you?"

McCoy shrugged and grinned. "Whatever you say, Jim. Just tell me where we're headed."

Jim slid onto the bike behind him, shrugging the sleeves of his work shirt over his black tank top. "Keep heading that way, and I'll tell you when to turn."

McCoy nodded, pulling his helmet back on and gunning the bike back to life. Jim grinned, loosely linking his arms around McCoy's waist. _Shitty day just might turn into a good night_ , he thought as they drove off into the rising darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for pictures on [](http://jim-and-bones.livejournal.com/profile)[**jim_and_bones**](http://jim-and-bones.livejournal.com/).


End file.
